Your goal so elusive for so long can only be to cause me to kill myself. Only then will you be happy--but I am not sure of that. Maybe I exist so you exist. Maybe you hate yourself and can only relate to causing hate in me.

I don't know. All I know is the hate that exists in the corner of my mind like a grinning mouth. And you are inside me and the only way I can hurt you is to hurt me. And I want to hurt you, really, really, badly.

Do my cuts hurt you? I hope they do. Is my shame yours? I hope it is.

It does not make sense, I know. But maybe if I cut deeper I will get you. If I become disgusting and horrible maybe you'll go away.

If I can hurt myself more than you ever hurt me maybe you will go away.

You see, I know your scars. They are old--early in my life--in a place where no one will ever see--ever, unless I show them.

And I've been cutting like that for a long time. Did you know that would happen? Do you relish in/at my cuts so like yours?

Or do I cut to re-live in some perverse way those first cuts?

The ramifications of that are to difficult to fathom and my brain shuts down.

Am I crazy?

But I did not do those first cuts to me. Someone hurt me at an early age. Before comprehension of such an act was even possible.